


Violet, Darling

by FoxLight



Series: The Strawberry Shortcake Chronicles [5]
Category: Trollhunters (Cartoon)
Genre: Dorks in Love, F/M, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-10 14:55:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11694036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxLight/pseuds/FoxLight
Summary: Chapter 2 of "Creature Comforts." Separated for rating.





	Violet, Darling

**Author's Note:**

> For those who are concerned, this is no attempt to overlook or disregard the deceptive and arguably abusive behavior that Strickler demonstrates toward Barbara. Most of this is told from the good doctor's perspective, and thus we see him through the lens of ignorance. Don't worry, that deceptive avacado will be guacamole by the time Barbara is done with him.
> 
> Again: Rated E for "everyone loses their clothing. "
> 
> Graphic language.
> 
> Please don't go further than this note if you are under 18.

Barbara Lake woke before the dawn, sleepy eyes peering into the dark, dense expanse of the open room. She could hear whir of the air-conditioning as it mixed with quiet clicks and ticks of the apartment complex, the world humming and churning as it prepared for the coming sun. The windows beyond held the green-gray glow of twilight, the silhouettes of Arcadia’s building caught in mist, and all around her were the scents of cedarwood, and mulberries and secret, hidden things. 

It had been a long time since she’d woken up in someone else’s house.

She could feel his breath wafting against the back of her neck, sending pin-pricking waves of goose-chills down her spine. His arms were circled around her body, hand clasping hers, as they had been when they’d fallen asleep.

Stomach fluttering, she traced a thumb into his palm, as if wondering whether or not he was real. His hand twitched, grip tightening as his body shifted behind hers in slumber. A sigh escaped him, as though relieved, and he pressed his nose further into her hair.

 _Forever._ She thought. She could stay like this forever. Certainly, she needed the rest. A doctor and a mother, Barbara was used to entertaining odd hours, but the limited amount of sleep felt like a crime. Already she felt tired, run down, and she had only just woken.

Glasses askew, she adjusted the frame. The blue of her eyes wandered around the room, across the shadows artifacts he kept, and over the lines of his simple yet elegant décor. She wondered where he’d acquired such pieces, and what their significance was to him. Strangely, he seemed hesitant to talk about his past. Beyond the fact that he was adopted, she’d learned very little—only that he “hadn’t enjoyed the easiest of upbringings” and that he “lived as an outcast among his family, never made to feel as though at home. ” 

Although the doctor didn’t push, she remained curious, wondering what it was beyond those green eyes that made Walter Strickler seem so _wild?_ Outwardly he projected a domestic, reserved nature, but internally, there was something about him that spoke otherwise—a quality of roughness, of shadow, that showed only in his most vulnerable moments. 

She regarded the door to his bedroom, and blushed, remembering the first night she’d spent in his apartment, where she’d witnessed one such “vulnerable moment.” Hectic as their schedules were, they’d only made love a handful of times since, but each encounter had been just as wonderful and passionate as the first. She hoped it would never change.

Mind trudging further into wakefulness, she remembered the argument she’d had with her son the night before. Worry, like an arrow, shot through her. The last time they’d spoken was at two o’clock in the morning. 

As if on cue, her phone buzzed. Still in her pocket, she pulled it out and squinted at the light.  


_Already at school. Love you. I’m sorry._

__

__

5:45AM

“Is that Young Atlas?” a low voice murmured behind her ear.

She started, not expecting the intonation. “Yeah,” she said, sighing with relief. “He’s okay. Got a jump-start on school, I guess. Did I wake you?” 

A laugh bubbled up from within his throat. “I certainly don’t mind waking up like this,” his hand squeezed her side.

The doctor turned within his arms, twisting until her entire body faced his. Green eyes met blue within the dimness of the twilight. A small arm rose from beneath the blanket as she reached to run her fingers through his hair. 

“Thanks for being with me last night.” Her thumb traced the line of silver just above his ear before cupping the side of his face. “I know I was a mess.” 

“Please,” he shook his head. “As I’ve said before: I enjoy you. _All_ of you. Even the crusty bits.”

She smiled, ever enchanted by his unwavering ability to overlook what her former relationships had led her to believe were ‘flaws’ in her character. Both her husband and the handful of men she’d attempted to date after her divorce had been unable to cope with the qualities she had come to know as 'vices' : the erratic work schedule, her high-paying job, her intimidating level of education, the complete inability to cook, the worry she held for her son, the fact that she _had_ a son to begin with…

The list went on, and, so far, no one had been willing to accept the reality that was Dr. Barbara Lake.

Until Walter came along: Walter, who knew, from the start, exactly who she was based on his proximity to her son; Walter, who called in favors and went the extra mile without expecting anything in return; Walter, who treated her with the respect of the highest of gentlemen, and loved her like every moment might be their last.

As if on cue, his fingers rose to trace her lip. She’d been staring, she realized, into those brilliant jungle eyes of his, hand still nestled in his hair. Normally well groomed, his hair looked ruffled now—a feature she’d come to adore since they’d started being intimate. 

“Not a ‘crust-cut-off’ kind of guy, huh?”

“Not at all.” He said, and bent closer to her lips. “I rather think it adds to the flavor.”

At the last of the words, their lips met. It was a slow, sensual exploration, a tactile meeting of teeth and tongue as they shared their first kiss of the morning. She moaned softly into his throat, touching him, tasting him, encouraging his own small noises as her body rose to hover above his. 

When they broke away, his eyes fluttered open, as though waking from a dream. Hand still knotted in the fire of her hair, he tried, ever so gently, to pull her back down, but she resisted. A smile tugged at her lips, and he looked up at her with glowing green curiosity.

“I like you,” she said, voice half a whisper as she bent to nuzzle her nose against his, “I really, really, like you.”

The look he gave her in response made her wonder if she'd gone too far. His smile faded, and his eyes flickered like the shadows beneath green leaves on a sunny day. 

Whatever his emotions were, they lasted only briefly. This time, instead of tugging her down to meet his lips, he came to her. Pressed as he was into the corner of the couch, it took a little effort, but he made his way skyward. One hand snaked around her shoulder as he propped himself onto an elbow. 

“Barbara…” he said, condensing all of his admiration and desire into one, single, breathy word, rolling the ‘r’ in that way she so dearly loved. He brushed his lips once against hers before taking them fully. Unlike the first kiss of the morning, this kiss felt wild, rough, full of a passion she sensed he barely kept restrained. Coming from him, it still surprised her...how raw and untamed he could be, how utterly intoxicating. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt things with him--strange sensations that she’d never experienced with anyone. It was as though they became one being when they were intimate; every pang of desire, pain, or tenderness he felt was her own. 

_Mirror neurons,_ she’d told herself, though she knew it was something more.

The doctor’s hand moved to trace the black silk covering his chest, smoothing until she found the first of the clasped buttons near his solar plexus. He moaned as she undid them, one hand curling behind her head to urge her deeper into the kiss, while the other skimmed the surface of the ‘v’ behind her kneecap. Lifting her leg, he brought it up and over his own, causing her body to shift and their hips to clash together.

She sucked in a breath at how ready he was, blue eyes flinging wide to meet his own in the growing light.

Barbara all but felt the fear before she saw it. Everything stopped--his hands, his mouth, his body--self-consciousness rolling in like a stormcloud as he mistook her shock as discomfort. 

Walter tried to calm his body down before he spoke, but entertained little success. “Barbara,” he panted, “if you don’t want to…if you’re not in the mood or…if it’s that whole _violet_ ordeal…,” he blinked, took a few breaths, stared at her. “We can stop. We can _always_ stop.”

Blue eyes crinkling with amusement, her head shook as she smiled down at him. “I don’t want to stop,” she assured, “and it’s _definitely_ not the ‘violet thing’, although I do think I know what’s causing that.”

“You do?” He looked up at her, eyes shocked.

“Potassium permanganate,” she said, propping her elbow onto his chest as she launched into her explanation. “I did some research. There really aren’t that many compounds that produce that pink color, and you said it was manganese-based, so I drew the only possible conclusion. I still don’t know how you produce it, but it’s completely harmless. It’s used for fungal infections, and to purify water, of all things.” She laughed, “It’s funny, because usually women tend to _get_ fungal infections after having these kinds of relations, but with you..." she trailed off, poking him gently. "You’ve got a very unique thing going on there, Mr. Pepto.”

The relief on his face was evident. Walter’s eyebrow rose, his smile mischievous, “did you just…?”

“Did I what, Mr. Strickler?” she asked, eyes batting innocently. 

“Did you just refer to my--” he looked down in indication, “as the brand-name of a popular digestive aid?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head, deadpan. “Doctors never, ever make jokes. We lose our ability to maintain humor when we go through residency. I certainly wasn’t comparing your bodily fluids to that of a common household medication--a viscous, pink substance able to treat multiple conditions at once with a single dose. I would never do that.”

“It’s _violet_ darling,” he purred into her ear, and she felt the pangs of her desire beginning anew.

“If that helps you sleep at night.” Their lips were close now, _very_ close, and she sealed the gap between them. 

For a while, they simply enjoyed each other, tongues dancing and dueling as she buried herself into his arms. She could still taste the chamomile he’d consumed only hours before, along with his own unique sweetness. 

Before she knew it, he’d spun them around, his hand cradling her head so that she wouldn’t hit it against the back of the couch. It amazed her: how strong he was, how unnaturally sharp his reflexes.... Academic though he seemed, he certainly didn’t lack vigor. 

“Well then, Doctor,” he spoke as he braced both hands against the cushion. Let me see if I can remedy one of your ailments this morning. ”

“Nausea?” he brushed his mouth against hers as she shook her head in the negative. “Heartburn?” his lips moved to the circle above her collarbone. She shook her head again. “Indigestion?” he kissed the dip just below her breasts. “Upset stomach?” He paused a moment to lift her shirt away from her body, tossing it aside before he bent low to suck the soft skin between her lower ribs. He must have heard her sharp intake of breath in response, because she could feel him smiling against her skin. Looking up at her pointedly, he moved lower, mouth pressing, wet and heavy, against the valley just below her navel. A chuckled escaped him. He let the last word speak for itself.

At the final, shake of her head, his eyes became impish again.

“Hmm,” he intoned, gaze tracing her bra and the expanse of her skin before landing on the clasp at the top of her jeans. “I wonder…” 

Every ounce of blood in her body ran directly _downward_ as he undid the button, sensuality mixing with with the sublime. He slid the garment off of her with practiced ease, body gliding down until he was on his knees at her ankles. The jeans found their place on the floor, as did his shirt, before his attention returned to her body. One thumb traced the dip below her ankle as he gazed at her--watching, admiring, waiting for permission. The doctor nodded, blue eyes closing reverently against the courtesy he always gave her of opting out. 

Nodding back, he bent low and began to work a very human magic upon her.

His lips circled and sucked around her ankle, eyes closing in concentration as he journeyed up the path of her leg. Lithe fingers moved to loosen her knickers, tugging gently before he sent them away in the morning haze. Her breath shortened in response, each heartbeat pumping faster and faster as she realized where his mind might be going.

 _This,_ he had never done. _This_ was entirely new, but what twisted her heart even more was the thought behind the act--the reason why he was attempting it in the first place:

Simply put, he was trying to catch her up. 

As a doctor, she knew the pattern of the morning, and what had gone on between them. Male testosterone levels met their peak during the first few hours of wakefulness, and then slowly declined throughout the day. The ‘readiness’ she’d so obviously felt pressing against her was as much a product of the hour as it was her presence, but after a long night of anguish and a week’s lack of sleep, she simply couldn’t spring up there with him. Having ruled out the possibility of her discomfort, he’d clearly deduced as much-- and instead of becoming angry, or upset, or accusing her of not being ‘interested enough’ (as others had in the past), he merely sought to arouse her. 

_“ **C’mon,** Barb," James’ voice echoed within the cavern of her memory. “the **one** weekend you have off and you can’t even get in the mood?” _

_“Honey, Jim is sick, I was up all night cleaning vomit off the floor.”_

_“He’s **four** years old. He can clean up his own mess.” He rolled off of her and onto his side of the bed. “I’ve been sweet-talking you for the last ten minutes and you’re as dry as the goddamn Sahara. It never used to take you this long. What is it really?” he threw an arm into the air. “Do you just not find me attractive anymore? Do you have some other guy on the side? What is it?”_

_She crossed her arms, on the verge of tears. “We had a son, James. I’m just **tired**. I come home from work and you haven’t done any of the chores, and by the time those are done, Jim’s ready for bed, or preschool, or whatever time of day it is, and I feel so drained. I know you’re busy too, but if you could just help out around the house a little more, I would have more energy, and—“_

_“Wow” he interrupted her, “dangle it over me like a carrot, why don’t you? I get a little treat if I do what you want? I’m not your pet.” He pointed at her. “And just because I make less money than you do, doesn’t mean I should have to make up for it with all the housework.”_

_“What? No, James, I’m only asking for--.”_

Walter nipped at the soft skin just beside her kneecap, and the memory vanished, as though erased from one of his chalkboards. He repeated the action and her breath became shorter, more urgent, her eyes snapping shut as each kiss sent a pulse of electricity from his lips straight to her very core. 

She reached down to tangle her fingers into his hair, then gasped as he began to travel upward, edging closer and closer to the center of her heat. The long fingers of his hand traced a path up the other leg, caressing where it had been neglected. He moaned as her foot skimmed down his ribcage. 

“Walt,” she breathed, hardly able to believe what he was doing, where he was going… 

Another moan escaped him in response, the vibrations from his voice nearly driving her to the point of insanity. His free hand reached to clasp her own as he propped himself onto an elbow. Then, moving back to where he’d first kissed her knee, his tongue traced a line from there, to the peak of her hip, purposefully avoiding her center. 

The doctor moaned, her hips rising of their own accord as he squeezed their clasped hands. She could feel her heart squeezing in response. Whenever they did this, whenever they were intimate, he seized every opportunity to convey that he was doing it _with_ her, not _to_ her, and it made all the difference in the world.

“Walt,” she said again. This time his eyes- wild and green, and utterly dark with the richness of desire--opened to meet hers. They lingered on her pointedly, then closed as he bent down to kiss her properly.

When his lips touched her, she cried out, gritting her teeth, body jolting in shock as her legs curled and rose around him. Waves of pleasure ran up and down her body in erratic patterns, speeding up her breath, heightening her senses, and sending her mind spinning with unfiltered bliss. She might have been embarrassed by the vice grip of her thighs around his head, had she not been entirely distracted by his tongue, which ran like velvet across the sensitive node at the apex of her being. 

Walter let go of her hand only long enough to bring one leg over his shoulder while he pushed the other back down to curl around his ribcage. At this new angle, he delved deeper, lower, until his tongue entered her fully. No words existed to describe the feeling. Her free hand skittered across his hair, the cushions, anything it could find, while the other tightened its grip on his hand to the point of causing them both pain.

How she could feel the pain too, she didn’t know, and didn’t care--he was biting, licking, and sucking far past the point of “catching her up,” and it was all she could do to hold herself to the couch while he worked her into a frenzy. Beneath her feet, she could feel the muscles of his back moving and writhing with her own. He murmured something deep and dark with that voice she found so tantalizing--like velvet surrounding her--and the pressure within her rose, causing her to buck into the gentle tension he held against her legs. 

Walter didn’t fight it, his movements only growing more intense, more profound as they both rallied onward. 

Reaching up with his free hand, he palmed her bra, then her stomach, hand gliding long and slow across the supple expanse of her skin. The effect was maddening. Flashes of light danced behind her eyes as she rocked against him, her movements becoming increasingly erratic. She knew she was close. Part of her wanted to pull him up, to take him, to share this moment with him when they finally came undone, but it was already too late. Everything within her narrowed to a single, condensed point of pressure, time itself collapsing as she hurtled toward the edge. 

One particularly fortuitous swipe of his teeth and tongue, and it was over. Mind bursting with stars, she cried out, legs rising and clamping around his head, as she gave one final, shuddering thrust into his lips. The tidal wave of bliss that followed was euphoric. Her muscles convulsed again and again, but she pushed past the haze, letting go of the iron-grip she had on his hand to grab him by the chin and pull him upward. 

Walter obeyed, body rising over hers as their lips crashed together in a frenzy. Below, Barbara's hips began to rock, grinding against him, making him harder than he already was, though neither of them thought it possible. The noise he made sounded caught between a gasp and a groan, and she would have smiled at how delightfully surprised he seemed, had she not been tangled in the throes of her own sensations.

Her hands were everywhere, running along the slickness of his back, his hair, his face. The taste of him, of her, of _them_ drove her absolutely feral. She broke away long enough to nip and whisper into his ear.

“I want you inside me,” she breathed, voice fluttering, but firm. 

He growled, actually growled, in response. It hardly sounded human and, for the briefest of moments, she wondered, but then he crushed his lips against hers, tongue delving as deep as it could go as he pushed himself past the silk threshold of his trousers and into her body.

Still raw and reeling, she gasped as he drove into her, his tongue above mimicking the actions he made below. 

She flexed around him, causing him to jerk forward and press deeper inside her. The spasms of aching pleasure it sent had her moaning into his mouth, her orgasm continuing far past the point where it should have ended. 

Their kiss broke away and Walter buried his face into her neck, biting her hard enough to where she groaned in response to the pressure. The hand he held against her hip tightened, and she hissed as he drove even harder into her, his manhood bumping against her womb, causing pain.

A strained noise escaped him, as though he felt the pain himself, and he slowed, running a shaky hand through her hair in apology.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and he doubled back to repeat the movement. 

It was lucky for both of them that the couch was so heavy, because he was lifting them bodily from the surface of the cushions with each pass of his hips, his chest heaving with the effort of trying to drive them both into oblivion. Beyond her belief, he was succeeding, the fire inside her rising anew. She trembled beneath him, unsure of how he could work such magic. Things never came this easy to her; it was as though his bodily sensations were mixing with hers, becoming a part of her--his internal heat sparking and igniting her own. 

“Barbara I…” he trailed off, trying to warn her.

Suddenly, he stiffened and cried out, his gasps and moans tumbling into her ear as he finally found release. In that vital moment, she found herself crashing with him. He pressed his forehead against hers, eyes squeezing shut as he poured himself into of her. She mewled in response, clinging to him, desperately holding onto what was easily the most private exchange they’d ever shared.

Minutes later, Barbara opened her eyes, breath still heaving, but growing calmer. They were still connected below, his hardness only just beginning to soften as he nuzzled his nose against her neck. He kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder, and she could feel the tears where they’d collected on his chin. 

“Are you okay?” she whispered as her nails traced the ridge of his shoulder blade. A sniff escaped him as he nodded against her skin, then backed away, wiping the pools from his green and shining eyes. 

“I don’t usually get like this,” he said, voice deep with emotion, “for the record.” 

Barbara smiled warmly as she reached to run a hand through his tousled hair and down his cheek. He leaned into the touch, eyes closing as he placed a kiss into her palm. 

“But then, I never _feel_ like this either,” the kiss descended onto her forehead, then her nose, then her lips, and straight into her heart. Every time she was with him she could feel it: his care, his adoration, and ultimately (though it went unspoken) his love. Now, stronger than ever, it ebbed out of him. She shivered at what it meant for their future.

The kiss was brief, but succinct, and when they broke apart she could feel the butterflies wafting into her stomach. He pulled out of her and nestled himself back into the corner of the couch. By now, the morning had turned into a pallid, white flower, shedding its petals over them both. Her skin looked pale and her hair twice as fiery in the dewy light. He stared at her, momentarily entranced, before reaching down to where the blanket had bunched below their toes. Pulling it up, the changeling kissed one last bit of exposed skin on her shoulder before covering them both beneath its warmth.

They stayed like that for a time, facing each other, touching, both gazing in wonder at how quickly things were changing between them.

Interruption came in the form of a thud she heard above them as Mrs. Presgrit came to life. Walter made a face as he looked up to the ceiling, and she laughed. 

“She’ll be down to ask for sugar before we know it,” he shared her mirth. 

“As long as it’s not for Pepto,” she said with an arched brow, “or strawberries…”

“Or for water filtration tablets?” he added.

They shared a laugh.

Her hand traced a path down his abdomen, at the light line of muscles there. “Especially not those.”

“I assume you won’t be writing prescriptions any time soon, then?” He shuddered beneath her touch.

It was the most veiled way she’d ever heard anyone ask the question of whether or not she’d "enjoyed their time." 

“Only one,” she said playfully, “though you might be illegal. A Schedule 1 or 2 narcotic, at the very least. Highly addictive, but I don’t think I’ll go to rehab any time soon.”

He chuckled, and then they both jolted as her phone started to buzz on the coffee table.

The doctor grabbed it, sighed, and placed her head on his chest as she answered. 

“Hey Wanda,” she spoke into the receiver.

 _“It’s Dr. Gilberg again”_ Wanda’s voice floated into her ear. _“His daughter got into a car accident this morning. She’s in a hospital out of town. All we have is a resident. We’ve already had three OD’s, one stab wound, and five heart attacks this morning. People are starting Friday off with a bang. You think you can cover?”_

“Of course,” she smiled when Walter’s hand rubbed up and down her arm, “I’ll be there in an hour, okay? Think you can hold off that long?”

_“Yep. Thanks Barb, I owe you.”_

“See you soon.” She hung up the phone, and groaned into his skin.

“Duty calls, I take it?” His fingers doubled around to trace the ridge of her spine.

“Yes,” she said, “And here I thought we could at least wait until _you_ had to get ready.” 

His green eyes scanned the clock. “It is nearly that time. Anything I can offer before you go?” He raised a brow in question, humor bubbling in his eyes. “Coffee? Breakfast? A ticket for lunch detention? Perhaps a lesson on the Peloponnesian war? l have much to give.”

Barbara giggled, recognizing the gesture. “Coffee would be a wonderful.”

 _One more kiss,_ she thought before she got up. It lasted all of three minutes before they finally broke apart, and he couldn’t help but gaze at her as she reached down to find out what had become of her clothing. 

When her hand landed on the silk of his pajama-shirt, she held it up to the light. “Mind if I snag this for a second?”

She almost laughed when she saw his pupils darken. Blinking, he shook his head.

Donning it, she rolled the sleeves up so that her arms came through the holes, then began the more difficult search for her underwear. Her hands were halfway down the crevice of the cushion before she finally heard him chuckling behind her. His eyes were as green as new grass when she looked at them. Silently, he reached past her and to the top of the lampshade. 

The doctor could feel herself flushing. “Ah,” she intoned as she grabbed them from him. 

“Aha,” he reflected, smiling.

Gathering the rest of her clothing, she made her way off of the couch. As she rose, his hand slid down her arm, catching her fingers in a kiss before he let her go.

As she left for the bathroom, Walter blinked, catching traces of pink running along her thigh. Unseen by her, he swallowed. Hard. Eyes flashing in the dimness as something primal awoke within him. The door closed and the weight of a long, steady breath he didn’t know he was holding escaped his lungs.

“Coffee,” he said to himself in undertones as he rose and set his path toward the kitchen, bare feet sliding across the cold, wooden floor. “You’re not falling for a human. Coffee.”

But he was, he thought. He _was_ , and he’d gone far past the point of “falling.”

Back in the bathroom, Barbara caught sight of her reflection in the mirror, and smiled. For the first time in a long time she felt attractive, wanted...girlish, even. Although irrelevant to her other tasks in life, it was…nice, a distraction from the everyday stress and a relief from the loneliness she’d harbored for many years.

She filled the sink, washed up, got dressed.

By the time she reentered the kitchen, he was dressed and half-way into spreading a piece of butter over a slice of toast, the handle of a spoon wedged between his teeth like a rose. He winked at her as he set the bread and knife down, then opened the jars of jelly, jam, and Marmite (of all things) that he’d spread across the counter. 

“I _derdernt,_ ” he spit the spoon out and shoved it onto the plate, “I didn’t know which one you might like, so I got them all.”

“Strawberry,” she blurted out with a wink of her own. “And don’t cut the crust.”

He laughed as he spread her choice over the bread, then placed the plate onto the breakfast bar, along with a lidded paper cup. 

“Coffee.” He said, flashing a debonair smile. “To-go.”

Barbara’s eyes softened at his thoughtfulness.

“I will text you the moment Jim is safely in his desk.” The changeling said as he spread Marmite over his own slice. 

She mumbled something and he looked up to see that she’d shoved the entire slice of toast into her mouth in one go, cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk‘s as she chewed.

How he utterly adored her. 

Charmed, he stepped around the bar, swallowing past his own bite of toast as she looked up at him apologetically. He kissed her, puffy cheeks and all, and her frantic munching froze. 

For a moment, the changeling worried that he’d caused her to choke, but then she swallowed and licked her lips, brows knitting together as her own heart melted. Her mouth was on his before he could speak a word, the tastes of sweetness and salt mixing between them as their tongues collided.

A hum escaped her. He nipped along the edge of her lip as she pulled away, 

“Oooh, I really wish I didn’t have to go.” She said, hand caressing the nape of his neck.

“That makes two of us,” his eyes were warm as he gazed down at her. ”But alas, you have lives to save, and I have a very unruly colleague to sort out,” he looked down at his ring. “Obligation binds us both.”

Grabbing her keys, she lifted her purse and placed it over her shoulder. “Well, I hope it doesn’t bind us long,” she said, “I can’t wait to take the gloves off, find a time to meet with you, and just feel human again. Maybe it sounds strange, but it’s been so long since I’ve felt...normal. ”

“You can’t imagine how much I share your sentiments.”

Clasping her hands on her purse, she smiled, and took a few steps back toward the door. 

“Goodbye, Mr. Pepto,” she grasped the handle behind her back, and rose a brow in challenge

“It’s _violet,_ darling,” he purred in response, echoing their earlier play. “But I am ever at the ready to heal your ailments. Do let me know if you have any nausea, heartburn, indigestion…”

Barbara felt the hot flush of desire creep across her neck. She opened the door, and fumbled through it, barely able look at him, knowing where his mouth had been. 

“ _Definitely_ illegal,” she said, pointing an accusing finger. “I’m going to need some Narcan* before this is over.”

Walter chuckled as he gave her a knowing grin. He took a few steps toward the door, and held it ajar. 

“Have a good day, love” the changeling’s voice echoed into the hall. He dipped low to grant her one last kiss, hand gripping white along the doorframe when he felt her tongue.

“You too,” she broke away, eyeing him over the rim of her glasses, wanting to laugh at the breath he'd sucked in, and smiled—a smile that followed her through the hallway, down the elevator, and all the way out to her car.

**Author's Note:**

> *Narcan is a medication used to combat drug overdose.


End file.
